Fumbling in the Dark
by Welcometopandora
Summary: An accident grants the voice in his head a body, and philip, albeit slowly, finds its both a blessing and curse.


I took this story down last year to be rewritten and it's edit has been sat in my drafts for just as long. Finally decided 'fuck it' I want to contribute to my favourite, dead, fandom. Seriously though, fandom where you at ;-;

-Long story short- my imagining of Clarence getting his own body and the two bumbling around trying not to get killed-

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Prologue

This was it, the end.

 **It wasn't fair.**

After all the close calls. The hours of patient sneaking. The endless blind game of cat and mouse.

For crying out loud; the cold, the mines. Mutant spiders, dogs, glorified zombies. And -not counting the consequence of doing so- he'd fought and survived being fully infected.

Yet something as simple- goddamn human- as a wrong turn was going to be his undoing.

Philips chest burned as he ran, arms pumping like an athlete going for gold. It didn't help. The motion only served to throw the dim light of the glow stick clutched in his palm over the corridors walls in broken intervals; his own personal rave.

Dying in style. And -he mused- with a sense of humour; something that hadn't quite withered the way of his optimism, only soured.

The flickering green didn't matter much, it was fear that kept his grip. The infected was close,- decidedly Philip sanity was against affirming the distance- close enough that it's flashlight illuminated the ground at the blonde heels. A spotlight in the dark. And from it, a trailing view of the seemingly endless path ahead.

Fuck

Philip spun around the corner at a sudden junction. A second of salvation. He yelped into the dark, his foot slid backward on some loose debris, leg jerking from under him, body hitting the floor. Somehow, he'd managed to kick out the pursing infected's legs. It fell with shriek, its fallen flashlight silhouetting the aggravated flailing as Philip pulled himself up at recorded speed; his window of respite closing as the new, burning thrum in his right knee forced him to a panicked hobble.

It was only then, in the relative silence of his heavy breaths and footfalls, that Philip registered his personal cerebral stowaway was screaming at him; had probably been so since the chase began. He was Philips last concern at the moment. The jumbles of words were distant in the hosts mind, drowned under the waves of pain and unconscious mantra of 'run'. But if he'd been a little keener and less autopilot, Philip may have had the sense of mind to be cautious of panicked spikes in the ex- virus's voice.

Another corner, another corridor lined with locked doors- signalled by a faint line of red dots marching down in the darkness. God he hated card readers, if that even was what they were- hell knows in this place.

Regardless, guttural growls and hurried steps promised no turning back now.

Philip carried on with effort. His strained breaths echoing down the corridor and further, yet another harsh reminder of its length. He swung another corner, just as light flashed behind, and into yet another corridor he couldn't recognise. There were more red dots, but now littered in odd intervals. Open doors?

It only now occurred to the blonde he'd actually dropped his glow stick and was running (hobbling) blind. There's a thought. How long had he been running, was the second turn before last a left or right- had there been more than three junctions? Through panic and pain he couldn't remember.

The damn place is a maze.

Footsteps

What was it people said to beat a maze? Hug the right wall... Or was it left. Fuck it, both would work in the end. The man threw himself to the right, using the wall to lift the strain off his leg and move a little faster. He palmed the wall as he ran, finding doors yet no handles.

Amazing

Another crossroad, another frantic right -least that's what the blonde hoped-. and with that logic he had to loop around eventually, ahead, maybe a way to turn back on himself and hide in a familiar room.

A hope to hold onto.

Halfway down the corridor he was blinded by a cone of light.

Another shone behind. His shadow cast in both directions

Clarence was in hysterics. Philip needed him to shut up.

Up ahead the infected's torch swayed as it broke into a sprint, and in that moment, - perhaps by the one divine force not out to get him, the same one who granted the last few escapes, and the favour he hoped wouldn't fail anytime soon- Philips hand left the wall and that light sensation, the breathless jump of imagining a step too many, filled him as he toppled into the first and possibly only opened door.

He caught himself on a table just inside, chest heaving.

The door was a lost cause.

He hurried into the room, a deranged mixture of wires, strange glows and blinking lights. Three upright human sized metal cylinders lined the left wall, another three stood about ten feet opposite. Two were open, the rest- through the small, head head hight glass window- seemed occupied. There was machinery on the ceiling too- thick bundles of cords snaking crosswise between adjacent tanks. Numerous computers dotted around the machines, their screens the only illumination besides a dull, green interior glow of the tanks.

There was a constant hum to the space, and every so often a heavy, rising bumble- like a fish tank.

' ** _Hide, idiot_**!'

Helpful as ever.

Philip stood by the tanks open door and spared a precious moment to eye it. Inside was a lattice of metal, spanning vertically, with small, circular nodes at each point. It was something the man- well any sane individual- would make a point to avoid. Although most aren't facing off against zombie/alien monsters.

He stepped in and swung the door as the infected collided with it, closing it; an internal lock securing the metal barrier with a hefty click.

The blonde held himself ridged, eyes ahead. He'd hold his breath if it was a possibility but he needed the air, his abused lungs demanded so.

The creature had rebounded off the door and disappeared; momently. It came back with a inhuman growl, sunken eyes staring into the glass window, into Philip. Then it wailed, slamming its forearms into the container. Then again, and again. Spittle and blood spraying the window.

Philip involuntarily shrank back as the door creaked and groaned. His heart racing, face turned from the door, cringing with each impact. The whole container shook from the assault but, by some luck, it all held tight.

But the luck well ran dry

There was a resounding clatter and sparks, an otherworldly shriek.

Philips sight burst into white dots.

Everything was coming at rapid burst. Hot pinpricks of pain. He was screaming, electricity passing through his body from the grating behind. It locked his joints, keeping him upright as he spasmed. He could feel the vibrations of it in his skull, his fingertips- his teeth clenched and somewhere, way out in the distance, he could swear there was another voice sharing his pain.

Then the noise faded, the colour drained and everything faded to black.


End file.
